Landon appears from his doorway like a hungover saint, blond hair a tangled halo. Judging by the state of it, he still hasn’t recovered from the weekend.
“You smell like brandy and bad decisions,” I tell him as he stumbles into the hall, pajama pants clinging to his waist like they’re holding on for dear life.
He rakes a hand through his hair. “There’s, like, six people in my room I don’t know. I mean…I know their insides. But not their names.”
I don’t break my stride. The front hall is my destination, and I’m not stopping for a debrief.
He falls into step beside me anyway, hips swaying as he rounds a mahogany console table, but he clips the corner, jarring the gilded mirror on top. “Where you going?” It’s not curiosity—it’s fear he’s missing out.
“I need Tade. You’re useless this morning.” Through gritted teeth, I pick up my pace. “Tell him to meet me downstairsnow.”
“I can watch you!”
My jaw clenches at the insistence of my best friend’s accompaniment. Spinning on my heel as I reach the top step, I face him with a frozen stare. “Take afuckingshower. Eat something real. Give all those girls a Plan B. AndgrabTade.”
Shrinking back, his cheeks turn pink, but he wouldn’t fight me. Not while he’s this hungover. “Yes, Mom.”
That’s the thing about it. Since first grade, I’ve been his caretaker. And he’s been a horrible son. Never does as he’s told.
Some days, I think I keep Lan alive just to prove I can.
By the time I reach the stone-walled dungeon, ducking beneath the low wooden beams and trying not to inhale too much of the mildewed air, my ire has revved up into full-blown fury. One of the pledges watches me carefully as I approach the house gimp’s, Cuntlyn’s, chamber.
“She…just had breakfast, sir. Do you want her?”
“No. Where’s thatDeltakid we caught snooping around the manor? The freshman.”
He nods toward one of the rooms down the hall as footsteps bounce off the low ceiling.
“Here,” Tade says breathlessly. “Class starts soon.”
“This won’t take long.”
Tade is the heir to a real estate conglomerate. There’s no reason for him to attend class. Which means…there’s some pussy there he’s interested in. I’ll find out who later.
We enter, and theDeltain question lies in the middle of the stripped bed, unchained.
“I thought we only had to do this if we failed Terror Tuesday!” he argues, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. The sight only angers me more.
“You’ll address me as Mr. President.”
“Fuck you, dude. You’re notmypresident.”
I turn to Tade, who slides on a knowing smirk and asks, “Pillory?”
“No. I think this one’s a fighter.”
Tade nods, then leans against the back wall with his arms crossed, getting comfortable for the show.
“Stand up.” I crook my fingers, beckoning him forward.
The kid looks like he needs a shower and an IV drip. He hauls himself off the bed and stands, a dark bloom of a piss stain coating his jeans. Disgust curls my lips.
“Are you serious? I’ve been in here too long, man!”
“You broke into Red Night. I thought you’d want to stay.”
His mouth hardens into a thin line as he sizes me up. He’s not small. Not soft either. But he’s the kind of puffy bulk you get from corner-store beer and cheap protein powder, not from the gym. Ink lacing up his arms screams second-rate mafia cousin—removed enough that I don’t know him and wouldn’t care if I did.